


You and Tequila

by allouette



Category: The Voice RPF
Genre: M/M, PWP, the only thing i write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allouette/pseuds/allouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's easy now to see how something so simple could get them into so much trouble. And it's all Blake's fault for saying, "let's make this more interesting!" because those five words change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and Tequila

Salt. Tequila. Lime. 

Lick. Drink. Suck.

It's easy now to see how something so simple could get them into so much trouble. And it's all Blake's fault for saying, "let's make this more interesting!" because those five words change everything.

So when Adam finds himself sprawled out on the bed - whose bed, again? oh right, it's his - the room spinning around him, skin sweat slick and itching with grains of salt, sticky with the remnants of tequila and lime juice and semen on top of it all, he blames Blake. 

Speaking of Blake, the bastard is nowhere to be seen as far as Adam can lift his head and glance around the room. He squeezes his eyes closed and scrubs a hand over his face, trying to remember the last ten minutes. Hell, the last hour. Did he black out? He doesn't remember blacking out. But there's been a lot of tequila and orgasms, apparently, and his brain is entirely too foggy and swimmy at the moment to focus on much.

He needs water and a shower and a new life at this point, and he pushes himself up with a groan when he makes the plan to actually move. Right before he's about to slide off the bed he hears a crash, a thump, and a muffled curse from the bathroom, and it's then that he realizes the water is running behind the closed door. It shuts off promptly after the curse and a few moments later, the door opens and there's Blake in all his soaking wet glory, one towel in hand, another wrapped around his waist.

"The hell did you do in there?" Adam asks, a rough edge to his voice.

"Oh, you're alive."

"Huh?"

"You sorta passed out before and ah, well, anyway. I knocked some shit off the shelf in the shower, sorry 'bout that," Blake explains as he haphazardly attempts to dry himself off. "I was gonna pick it up but I almost landed on my ass so I said fuck it, not that important right now."

"I did _not_ pass out," Adam argues, scrubbing one of his hands roughly over his face.

"Out cold, buddy," Blake replies as he climbs up onto the bed and stretches out on his back with a sigh. "Which I took as a huge, huge compliment, so thank you for that."

"Ugh, fuck you so much. I'm going to go take a shower and be far away from you."

Blake just grunts in response, one of his arms draped across his eyes. When Adam finally grasps that that's all he's getting out of Blake at the moment, he forces himself to move from the bed and makes the short trip across the bedroom to the bathroom. 

Once he's inside, Adam catches sight of himself in the mirror and can't help but stop and stare - not at his face but the rest of his body. The map of newly forming bruises and other marks decorating his skin paint a picture of how Blake feasted on him just as much, if not more, than the tequila. There are a couple on his neck that he is not going to be able to cover at all, an angry looking mark just below the ink under his left collarbone, at least three separate spots on his stomach that will end up being impressive bruises later. Adam closes his eyes for a moment and can almost feel the phantom sensation of Blake's mouth ghosting over his flesh. It sends a shiver down his spine, and his head spins when his eyes snap open a little too quickly.

"Fucking Blake," he grumbles to himself as he returns to the task at hand, turning on the water in the shower before he steps in. 

He's careful to avoid stepping on the bottles of shampoo and soap and whatever the fuck else is on the floor that Blake knocked over earlier, letting out a blissful sigh as he stands under the spray. The water feels heavenly on his skin, the temperature just right, rinsing away the salt, the sticky lime juice, the remnants of Blake Shelton. It can't wash away everything, though, because the marks remain, sucked and bitten and scraped onto his skin, not likely to fade for a couple of days. Maybe longer for some.

Adam closes his eyes, ducks his head under the spray and drags his hands through his hair - there's salt in his hair, jesus christ - and that feeling is back, like Blake's mouth has set up camp around his stomach again and Blake's hands are clamped around his hips to keep him still. It isn't the tequila that makes his head swim this time, that sends a fluttery sensation through his belly. He does blame the small wave of nausea that rolls through him solely on the liquor and _not_ on what they've done or the blinding panic he's fighting to ignore. He can't blame it on the fact that Blake is still in his bed, either, and he's about to rejoin him and he really can't fucking wait, if he's being brutally honest. 

Fucking tequila. Fucking _Blake_.

Once Adam is out of the shower and dried off, he pulls on a pair of black boxer briefs and grabs a set of clean sheets from the closet because there is absolutely no way he is getting back into that bed with the array of fluids, bodily and otherwise, that cover the sheets. Blake is still lying in the same position Adam left him, although he notices Blake must've moved long enough at some point to trade the towel he had wrapped around his waist for his underwear. Adam starts stripping the bed as much as he can until Blake's overgrown form is in the way, then he grabs a pillow, smacking Blake in the chest with it before he shakes the cover off.

"Dude, you gotta get up."

"What the hell?" Blake grumps, his arm sliding up above his head.

"Move your ass, man. There's salt and shit all over the sheets, I can't sleep in that mess."

Blake rolls his eyes, groaning a little as he slides off the bed. "I'm gonna start callin' _you_ a diva," he says, jerking the bottom sheet the rest of the way off of the mattress and balling it up. He throws it at Adam, then grabs the clean one from the set, trying his best to shake it out and remain upright in the process.

"Because I like clean sheets?"

"Because it doesn't matter that you're drunk right now, you're still changin' your sheets 'cause they're dirty and you say you won't be able to sleep. That doesn't sound divaish to you?"

"You know I'm going to say no because we're talking about me, right?" Adam asks as they tuck the corners of the sheet around the mattress.

"Right. What was I thinkin'?"

"You're just distracted by the fantastic sex we had earlier, it's okay, I don't blame you."

Blake just grins and ducks his head; they throw the top sheet onto the bed, then the blanket, shoved down around the end of the mattress because the alcohol in their systems is keeping them both warm enough for now. Once the pillows are in place, they both fall into a heap on the bed, a chorus of soft groans and sighs as they stretch out and get comfortable, Blake sprawled out on his back again, Adam on his stomach next to him. 

Everything is still and quiet for a few minutes until Adam shifts over onto his side, props his head on his arm. He just looks at Blake for a moment - the rise and fall of his chest, his hair on the unruly side and curling now that it's mostly dry, the slight farmer's tan that circles his arms bringing a smile to Adam's face. There's also more muscle there than Adam was expecting to find, and he reaches with a finger to trace over the curve of Blake's bicep, the line where tanned skin meets that which doesn't see as much sun light. Blake twitches a little and rolls his head to the side, his eyes fluttering open just enough.

"Hey," Adam says softly.

"Hey."

Adam curls his fingers around Blake's arm as he leans in closer, pressing their mouths together without thinking twice about it. Blake responds instantly, his lips parting for Adam's tongue, and that fluttery feeling in Adam's stomach is back ten fold just kissing Blake because, okay, kissing Blake is really unlike any other kiss he's ever had before. Which is saying _a lot_ , considering. He doesn't have to be sober to realize that.

It doesn't take long before he's moving, shifting over to cover Blake's body with his own. He likes the way they fit together, his smaller frame above Blake's larger one. His legs hook under Blake's knees and their chests press together, warm hands sliding along his sides before they settle on his hips. Adam isn't really sure if it should be possible but his cock is rejoining the party with renewed interest in all things Blake as he sucks on Adam's tongue, bites at his bottom lip, and he can't resist the slow, lazy grind he gives Blake in return. The whimpered moan that escapes Blake's throat makes Adam smile, and he threads his fingers through Blake's hair just as strong arms circle his waist.

He has no idea how long they stay that way, each kiss melting into the next until his lips are numb and Blake's are red from scraping teeth, drunk on Blake's mouth just as much as the liquor. Minutes must pass as they make out in a pleasant tequila induced haze, and Adam feels sweat prickling on his skin where his chest is pressed against Blake's, heat radiating everywhere their skin touches. He doesn't even realize he's moving, aware of only the heat and _more_ and _mmm_ , until Blake breaks away with a hissed, "fuck, Adam." Then he feels it, the steady roll of his hips against Blake's, blunt fingernails digging into the small of his back. He's suddenly hotter, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, and Blake's face is just as flushed, skin red all the way down his neck to his chest; Adam wants to cover every inch of it with his mouth, taste the salt under his tongue but he can't force himself to move. He pushes up with one arm enough to slide his hand between them, fingers reaching for the waistband of Blake's boxer briefs.

"We gotta stop," Blake says suddenly, even though he makes no move to let go of Adam.

"What, why?" Adam asks with his hand stopped on Blake's belly.

"Because you can kiss my ass if you think I'm gonna help you change these sheets again."

Adam blinks before he bursts out laughing because seriously? "Oh my god, I--" then he's pressing his mouth to Blake's to stop himself from saying the words _I love you_ out loud; his inhibitions may be lowered but he still knows how much of a horribly bad idea that would be. And he'll be damned if that doesn't sober him up just a little bit, enough to make him ease out of the kiss, resting his forehead against Blake's. "Why'd you do this to me?" he practically whispers, his voice rough around the edges because Blake has no idea how much of a loaded question it really is.

"What'd I do?"

"You poured tequila down my throat and made me like it."

Blake laughs and Adam smiles because that sound alone makes his toes curl, and fuck, he's so fucked, goddamn it. "Bullshit. Well, all right, I might've poured one or two down your throat, but the rest you took all on your own and you loved every second of it."

"You're right, I did. But I'm going back to hating you when I have the worst hangover ever tomorrow, just so you know," Adam says and shifts down slightly, just enough that he can rest his head against Blake's shoulder, legs stretched out. Now that they're both still, the heat of the previous moment dissipating, that swimmy feeling in his head returns and he feels himself starting to drift, the alcohol quick to pull him under. 

"You've been drinkin' with a professional here, I won't leave you sufferin' for long... Are you passin' out on top of me?" Adam mumbles something that sounds sort of like shut up, maybe, but Blake can't be too sure. Instead he adjusts his arms around Adam's smaller frame and sighs. "Awesome."


End file.
